


Amidst the Wanderings

by Namigati



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anachronisms, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied Relationships, M/M, POC jesse mccree, implied past reaper76
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:02:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8434417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namigati/pseuds/Namigati
Summary: "Dr. Junkenstein laughed as his minions arose, for tonight was the night of Junkenstein's Revenge."Hanzo meets someone whose fate may be bound to his and four heroes draw together to help a lord from a mad doctor's revenge.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Overwatch's Halloween brawl

As he settles down to rest for the night, fire warming him in spite of the chilly autumn air, Hanzo closes his eyes with a hum. It has been days since he has stopped for more than an hour, and after fending off a group of bandits, he feels this rest is well-deserved. Perhaps he will sleep; the light breeze stings his eyes and the fire entices him to lie down. The second the thought stops sounding absurd, the bushes to his left rustle and he is up, arrow notched in his bow.

“Show yourself,” he demands, “or you will regret it.”

The bushes rustle again and two gloved hands pop out, a voice behind them calling out, “Whoa now, no need to worry about lil ol’ me.” The owner of the hands emerges, a sheepish smile spread on his leathery cheeks underneath a scruffy beard. He’s wearing a dirt-covered plaid shirt with some sort of scarf on top of it, brown pants, boots with spurs, and a gleaming belt with the letters BAMF on it. Hanzo does not miss the holster with the large revolver, nor the other packs around the stranger’s legs.

Hanzo does not lower his bow. “What do you want?”

“I just saw the fire and hoped you were friendly,” the man explains. He doesn’t look like he’s scared or even inconvenienced by Hanzo pointing an arrow at his chest. He looks like it’s the most normal thing in the world, nothing to worry about. What sort of fool is he?

“If you came to rob me, you have picked the wrong target.”

“I ain’t robbin’ nothin’,” the man drawls, still largely unconcerned. “Though I am a tad hungry. I could pay you for any food you may be willin’ to part with.”

“I’ve nothing for you.”

 The man shrugs, hands still in the air. “Sorry to have bothered you, then.” He turns to leave but Hanzo stops him.

The man seems friendly, with a kind face, but Hanzo knows better than to trust someone like that. He wants to know the man’s intentions, but the man just repeats the line about being hungry. Hanzo’s fingers start to stiffen; he’s been holding the arrow against the string too long, but he will not slacken.

“Mr. Archer,” the man says all of a sudden, concern sweeping over the previously impassive features, “It’s dangerous to be alone out here. Obviously lookin’ at you, you can take care’a yerself, but with this here fire, it’ll draw a lot of attention. There’ve been bandits roamin’ round these parts.”

“But you are not one of them?” Hanzo frowns. Is this man trying to get him to lower his guard and then strike? Hanzo will not fall for something so foolish and obvious.

“Naw, not me. Kicked a couple of their butts before I found ya. But you should put out the fire before you go to sleep. That way no one can find ya.”

Hanzo lets the bowstring slacken a little bit, the small action sending his heart racing. The man still made no move to draw, or even go toward, the revolver. 

“And you look like you wanna pack up so I don’t come stumblin’ back lookin’ for ya.” The man slowly edges his hand to his face, scratching at his beard. “I’m sorry I upset yer night.”

“Thank you for your concern, and your advice. Hurry along before I let my arrow fly.”

The archer nods politely as the man smiles and ambles back the way he came.

Hanzo brings the arrow away from the bowstring, putting it back into his quiver and with urgency gathers his things. He gazes longingly into the flames. With a wistful sigh, he kicks dirt over the fire, snuffing it out, and dashes the opposite way the man left. He’ll have to double back around since he himself traveled from this direction, but it’s worth it to lose anyone who may be following him.

When he grows tired of hearing nothing but hooting owls and his footsteps on the crisp grass, he decides he’s a far enough distance from his original campsite and that man. He sets his pack down and sits next to it, rubbing his ankles. The moon still shines down brightly, nearly full. The breeze blows lightly, not enough to make itself more than an annoyance, the cold starting to seep into Hanzo’s clothes. He longs for even a small fire, but knows how dangerous it would be. He fights the urge.

A twig snaps behind him, rousing him from drifting off, and he jumps, readying his bow once more.

“Put that down,” a voice demands, a man with a pistol leveled at Hanzo stepping out of the shadows. It’s not the same man as before, the builds are much different. “Who do you think’ll get hit first?”

Hanzo sneers. “Who do you think will require more medical attention?”

“Just put that thing down and toss your bag over here. No one has to get hurt.”

“On the contrary,” Hanzo says rather flippantly for someone being held at gunpoint. “If you plan to go through with your banditry, someone _will_ need to be hurt. And it will be you. And your friends.”

 “This is your last warning.”

“And this is your only warning.”

Hanzo barely hears someone yelling “Get him” before he loosens the arrow, hitting the bandit in front of him right in the arm holding the pistol.

With a cry, the bandit drops the pistol and grips his arm. His comrades flood the clearing and brandish their own weapons at Hanzo. He counts three of them, four in total, and he could laugh. None of them will fire on the chance they hit one of their friends, and Hanzo is quicker, grabbing another arrow and notching it. Before he can fire at any of them, one lunges at him stupidly, knocking into him. His arrows spill all along the ground, but the fool drops their own gun in the process. With a grunt, he twists around, grabbing the bandit and hold them around the neck with his bow.

“Leave or I will kill your friend.”

“Just shoot him,” one of the others says. “Less mouths to feed.”

As Hanzo’s hostage cries out in indignity, Hanzo shrugs. He shoves his hostage forward and bashes them in the back of the head with the bow. He leaps to the side, trying to get as close as possible without getting shot, and manages to use his bow to smack the gun out of one of their hands. Two shots ring out and for a second, Hanzo thinks he’s been shot. Looking down, he sees the two remaining bandits moaning in pain, blood on their clothes. The one Hanzo shot first still writhes around behind him, crying.

“Hey there!” A familiar voice calls out several feet away. “You looked like you were in a bit of a pickle. Hope I didn’t ruin your fun.” The stranger from before steps into the clearing, securing his revolver in its holster.

Hanzo supposes he feels too grateful to be annoyed with the man’s reappearance, and simply nods.

“Thank you.” He stoops to pick up his fallen arrows, brushing the dirt off of them before placing them back into his quiver. The man doesn’t hesitate to help him.

“Not a problem. Course you look like you had it, but it could’a gotten a tad messy had it carried on.” The man straightens up, handing the last arrow back to Hanzo. “Gotta say, though. You’re pretty handy with that bow.”

“Hm,” Hanzo says, smile ghosting his lips. “Thank you.”

“You sure say that a lot.”

“I’m being polite.”

“Course.” The man scratches his beard. “Let’s get away from here. I doubt they’ll be following any time soon.”

Hanzo agrees, securing his bag and bow. He follows the man back the way both of them had entered the clearing, at different times. The man seems too… _good_ to have just been following him, but it’s also too large of a coincidence for them to keep meeting in such ways. Hanzo thinks he’s overthinking it; they’ve only met twice.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, suddenly aware of the fatigue and hunger gnawing at him.

The man laughs, a clear and deep sound. “I’m starvin’ if I’m honest. Been wanderin’ about, lookin’ for some grub.”

Hanzo grunts, rubbing his left arm. “I have some food. We could share it.”

“I’d be awful grateful for even a bite.” Hanzo believes him.

When they finally stop to sit, Hanzo brings out a small wooden box. He opens it, showing the man five rice balls, and handing one over.

Hanzo takes one for himself and eats in amusement, watching the man shove his own into his mouth and moan happily. It must have been a very long time since he’s eaten, Hanzo thinks.

“This is mighty fine, Archer,” he says, picking rice out of his moustache. “Could I trouble you for just one more?”

Hanzo acquiesces another, smiling when the man eats the second one slower, savoring every bite.

“So,” Hanzo asks, also starting on his second, “what brings you out here? You seem to show up in the right places.”

The man laughs. “Truth be told, I’m lost as can be. I’ve been looking for a way outta these woods for a couple days now. You wouldn’t happen to know what way to go, would ya, Mr. Archer?”

Hanzo looks up to the stars. “I believe we’re on the west side of the forest. Heading west a little more should get you out. There are two small towns a few miles from each other, you should be able to see at least one of them when you’re out.”

“Huh,” the man says, scratching his beard again. “So I’m closer than I thought. Well thank you kindly.”

Hanzo nods, putting the box back into his bag and he curls his legs under himself, shivering. He longs for the fire he knows he cannot have.

“You all right there, Archer?” the man asks. “You look awful tired.”

“I am fine, Gunslinger,” Hanzo teases, rubbing his legs to put some warmth in them. “Though I suppose it has been a long night.”

The gunslinger takes off his scarf and places it around Hanzo’s shoulders. “Why don’t ya take my serape for the night? It’ll keep ya warm while ya sleep.”

It’s warm from the gunslinger’s body, and the heat seeps into Hanzo immediately. He sighs, gripping it to him. “Won’t you be cold without it?”

The gunslinger shrugs. “I’m a pretty warm guy. Don’t worry your pretty head over me now.”

Hanzo smiles in spite of himself and lies back. With the heat from the serape, the cool wind on his face, and the deep hum of the gunslinger, he drifts into a comfortable sleep before he knows it.

*

The warm light peering between the trees wakes Hanzo up slowly, pulling him from his hazy dream of a castle and the gunslinger. He balls his hands into fists and feels the soft fabric between his fingers; he’s still wearing the gunslinger’s serape. He sits up, taking a hand out to rub his eyes, and looks to his left to the sleeping form of the gunslinger. Or what should have been the sleeping form of the gunslinger – he instead finds the space empty.

With a huff, he realizes the gunslinger must’ve taken off some time in the night, after Hanzo had fallen asleep. He must’ve been tired, to have heard nothing. He isn’t sure whether he’s uneasy or grateful to have woken up alone.

There is nothing missing from Hanzo’s bag, but the gunslinger did leave his serape. It seemed important to him, or so Hanzo believes, the fabric frayed and well-worn from what has to have been constant use. He can’t say he is upset the gunslinger left it, he can’t even feel the chilly morning air through it.

Unwrapping himself from it, Hanzo folds it and makes room for it in his bag, careful to not have anything touch it that could damage it. He has a feeling that he’ll be seeing the gunslinger again, the latter surely not willing to part with the serape for too long.

For the next few days, as he makes his way through the trees, he needs to hunt and catch his meals, the only bit of food left being the one rice ball he hadn’t shared with the gunslinger. Every night, he wraps the serape around himself and sleeps, whether in trees or in bushes, hidden away and warm without a fire.

He makes it to town before sundown on the last day, footsore and hungry. After a beeline to the town’s tavern, he pushes the door open and shuffles in. Something catches his attention from the corner of his eye, a movement of brown. A hat. A smile tugs at his lips and he makes his way over to the table.

“What are the odds?” he asks as he sits across from the gunslinger.

The gunslinger’s eyes widen, but that easy smile is on his face in a second. “Well now I’d say the odds’re slim, but my luck’s pretty good.”

Hanzo quirks an eyebrow, shifting his bag to the floor and getting comfortable.

“I was feelin’ a bit lonely, is all,” the gunslinger explains. “Then you show up just when I was gettin’ sad about it. How about I buy you a drink? I owe ya for savin’ my starvin’ ass last we met.”

Allowing himself another smile, Hanzo nods. “It’s just as well. I do not know if they’d serve me here.”

The gunslinger shrugs and motions to the barkeep to bring two drinks. “Germans are like everybody else. Some are decent folk and some deserve an ass-kicking.”

“I see.”

“I like this,” he says. Hanzo gives him a look for him to explain himself. He talks a lot but doesn’t say much. “This atmosphere with us. You seem happy to see me: you’ve been smiling more in the last five minutes than all those hours when we first met.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes. He thanks the barmaid when she sets down their drinks, and sits back with his in hand. “I forgot how nice it is to see another human. Days with nothing but the same chittering bird not letting me sleep has rendered me softer toward others I think.”

The gunslinger laughs that clear, warm laugh of his and raises his glass toward Hanzo, who mirrors his action. The glasses clank together and they both take a long sip. “Good, ain’t it? Really warms your bones. You look like you’re freezing.”

Hanzo shrugs. “I will live.”

The two sit in silence for a long while, listening to the sounds of the tavern patrons talking and laughing; of a bard singing; glasses clanking together. Hanzo didn’t much like the smell of the bar, various liquor and people mingling together into a pungent scent, but he can admit he’s been in worse places. The gnawing in his belly compels him to break the private quiet he has with the gunslinger.

“Would you join me again for dinner?”

The gunslinger smiles. “It’d be my honor, Archer. Can’t stay for too long after, though.”

Hanzo nods, and they order another round of drinks, some kind of western dumpling, and a plate of large sausages. He eats politely, his body grateful for something prepared by another’s hand, as he was accustomed to when he was younger. He’d be lying if he says he doesn’t miss being pampered, that he was never suited for that sort of life. He shakes his head, not wanting to think about his homeland. Instead he watches the gunslinger scarf down the food with an appreciative hum.  

“Mighty fine to not go hungry, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Well I hate to eat and run, but there’s some business that needs attending,” the gunslinger says gently as he stands. He doesn’t elaborate on his _business_ and Hanzo doesn’t ask him to. He tips his hat to Hanzo and grins. “Thank you kindly for feedin’ me twice, Archer.”

“It’s been my pleasure, Gunslinger,” Hanzo responds, dipping his head in return.

When he’s done eating, Hanzo pays for the meal and asks for a room for the night. He immediately turns in, locking the door behind himself and falling onto the bed exhausted. It’s the softest thing he’s felt in weeks, save for the gunslinger’s serape. The thought hits him: he never gave it back. Reaching a hand out, he grabs his bag and opens it, pulling the serape out. How could he have forgotten? For that matter, why had the gunslinger not asked him for it back?

Hanzo slides off the bed and takes off the top of his kimono, folding it and placing it on his bag. With a sigh, he climbs onto the bed and pulls the serape over himself and closes his eyes to sleep.

*

In a few days’ time, Hanzo wanders his way into the town a few miles from the one he took up temporary lodgings in. He doesn’t think he’ll stay long; he feels watched and followed, like there’s a presence around him that no matter how many back roads he turns down, he just can’t shake. He sits in a dark corner in the inn, nursing his untouched drink and gazing out into the main space of the building. People laugh and drink, someone argues, the barkeep cleans out a glass. Nothing out of the ordinary and no one is staring at him, yet he feels stared at.

When a man stands, placing a coin on the table before leaving, Hanzo knows why he felt watched. Behind the man sits a woman, slender and pretty with a severe expression. She has darker skin than Hanzo, darker than most of the people he’s seen around for the most part so he isn’t sure why she hadn’t stuck out to him before. Especially since she isn’t even hiding herself, but staring directly at him. When she stands, he tenses, gripping his knife underneath the table. He thinks she’ll leave or make herself less suspicious, but she glides over to him and sits down across from him, crossing her legs and clearing her throat.

“Why have you been following me?”

“I have need to speak with you,” she says in English, her voice lilted and accented. A surprising amount of people Hanzo meets seem to speak English, he thinks, but he can’t pin her accent down. Perhaps some sort of South Asian?

“Go on.”

“My name is Satya. My lord requires your assistance, and the assistance of others like you.”

A job offer? Hanzo isn’t clear on the ins and outs of German politics and nobles, but he nods for her to continue.

“Even though you take poor care of yourself, your skills are unlike any I have seen.” She’s blunt and seems to take great care in choosing her words, as freely as they flow from her. “I offer you a meeting with my lord in his castle so he may ask you himself.”

“How do I know I can trust this?” Hanzo asks, though he doesn’t see the point in her lying.

“You don’t. But I say what I mean, and it would behoove us both if you joined me.”

Lord of a Castle, in need of Hanzo’s skill, possibly a reward, and he need only meet with the lord to decide what he wishes to do. If he stays on his guard, even if it is a trap, he should be fine. He agrees, and she smiles a tightlipped smile and stands.

“Excellent. Come, we move swiftly.” She stands and swishes out of the inn, Hanzo jumping up to follow her out to her carriage. He could laugh; he doesn’t even need to walk to this castle. The ride over is pleasant enough, though Satya stares at Hanzo the entire way. At first it unnerves him, but he realizes she isn’t doing it on purpose. She’s watching him, but he’s watching her. Small, not much physical strength, Hanzo could easily overpower her. But to what end? Perhaps she, too is spending this time wondering if he is going to attack her. The ridiculousness of it all makes him want to laugh.

When they pull up to the castle, Satya ushers him into a spacious foyer with the highest ceilings he’s ever seen. His arms tingle, the desire to climb rushing through them, as he would with Genji when they were younger. A silly thought, but he entertains it for a moment before focusing on the tapestries and portraits lining the walls.

“Wait here a moment,” Satya tells him. “I will return soon.”

Hanzo nods, turning his attention back to the paintings. Most subjects are austere white people, but one painting in particular sticks out. The frame is similar, as is the realism of the subject, but the colors are more vibrant. Whereas the other portraits use neutral colors, this one of a young black man uses bright yellows and greens for his clothes, the background a similar shade, but of blue. His kind smile makes the other paintings look somber for no reason, the colors make the others dull in comparison. Who is this man, and why is his portrait so different?

As he takes in the rest of his surroundings, a warm voice rings out behind him with affection, “We really oughta stop meetin’ like this, don’tcha think, Archer?”

He turns, a smirk on his face. “Why am I not surprised to see you here?”

The gunslinger shrugs. Instead of the brown clothes he had been wearing during their first meetings, he was dressed in an all-white outfit, the gold from his belt buckle shining brilliantly from his waist, which he rests his thumbs on.

Hanzo can’t help his gaze following the natural lines of the gunslinger, taking in the sharp form and generally massive shape of the man, clothes tight enough to tease what’s there, loose enough to leave some things up to the imagination. The white outfit is a definite improvement, Hanzo thinks.

The gunslinger taps his buckle. “Newly polished. Taken a liking to my belt?”

Before he can stop himself, Hanzo blurts out, “You are wearing a belt?”

Caught off guard, it takes both of them a few seconds to process Hanzo’s words. This is enough time for Hanzo to keep his face stony and impassive, as red as it may be, and gives the gunslinger time to pick his jaw off the floor, mouth twisting into a self-assured, suggestive grin.

As he opens his mouth to speak, the doors open and four more people walk in, effectively interrupting whatever the gunslinger was about to say. A big white woman and a smaller one come first, leading an older white man wearing a mask and a cloaked woman with an eye patch.

“Good,” Satya says from behind him. A shared look between the gunslinger and Hanzo reveals neither heard her come in again. “We are all here then. Lena, please go get Lucio. Zarya and I will inform the lord of everyone’s arrival.”

 The bigger woman, Zarya, followed Satya into another room, the other white woman, presumably Lena, dashed off the other way.

“Guess we’re late to the party,” the man says. He holds his hand out to the gunslinger. “I’m the Soldier. And this is the Alchemist. Hope ya’ll weren’t waiting on us too long.”

The gunslinger looks at Hanzo before taking the soldier’s hand and shaking. “Pleasure. I’m… the Gunslinger. And this here’s the Archer.”

“Huh,” the alchemist says, adjusting her cloak. “They told us they’d have a warrior. Perhaps she said no.”

Puzzled, Hanzo looks to the gunslinger who laughs.

“Maybe. Truth be told, no one told me anyone else was gonna be here.”

“Well I’m sure you both are very skilled,” the alchemist says, a kindly, almost grandmotherly look upon her face. “It’s good to meet you.”

The gunslinger steps forward and takes the alchemist’s hand, bringing it up to his lips for a second. “The pleasure is all mine, ma’am.”

The alchemist chuckles and looks back and forth between the gunslinger and the soldier. “Oh you Americans are all so charming, aren’t you?”

Hanzo thinks that underneath his mask, the soldier is laughing.

Zarya comes back and tells them all that the lord is ready for them now. The four are ushered into a large room where a large man sits in a large chair. A wide and grizzly face, most of which is covered by a thick white beard with a large gash over one eye, betrays a grim worry, but Hanzo can see relief and warmth in the crystal blue eye.

“I present the Lord Reinhardt,” Satya announces with a bow.

“I thank you all for coming,” the lord says as the four stand before him. “I am glad to see all of you have agreed to listen to my requests. As some of you may know, my castle had previously held guest to who I believed to be an up and coming scientist, Dr. Jameson Junkenstein. My grandson and I found out that he had been using my hospitality for nefarious purposes, and I had no choice but to eject him from the castle.”

“Lemme guess,” the gunslinger says, politely tipping his hat and shifting next to Hanzo. “He’s comin’ back with a vendetta.”

“Unfortunately.” Reinhardt sighs and stands as the door opens and Lena returns with a shorter man with dark skin. “Lucio, my grandson.”

The gunslinger nods and the others quietly greet him. He scurries over to Reinhardt and stands up straight. His handsome face is as kind as his grandfather’s. It takes a minute, but Hanzo recognizes him from the paintings outside the room.

“Look at this group.” He smiles wide. “They’re gonna be great.”

Reinhardt nods. “On the night of the full moon, the mad doctor has threatened his attack. But you all must be tired from your journeys! Enjoy dinner tonight and we will discuss more in the morning. Lena, if you will.”

“Right, sir!” Lena dashes off again, only waiting for the guests to follow.

Thanking Reinhardt, they each turn and follow Lena out and to a grand dining room. The soldier and alchemist sit with a seat between them, not speaking to one another. The soldier takes off the mask and places it on the table without a word. Hanzo takes a seat across from them, the gunslinger pulling out the chair beside him.

“’Scuse me.”

Hanzo tilts his head, trying not to glance at the soldier and alchemist. They seem to know one another, their bodies tense and necks stiff from pointedly not looking at each other. Hanzo thinks it strange, as they seemed fine before. The gunslinger makes for a good distraction, looking at Hanzo every so often, trying to catch his eye. He smiles, giving a questioning look.

“What’d’ya think’s for grub?”

“Bread and sausage?” Hanzo chuckles when the gunslinger makes a face.

“That’s all I’ve had for the last three days.”

“Dinner isn’t gonna be much different,” the soldier interjects with a smirk. “Though he is a lord. He might give us several courses.”

“I do like stuffin’ up before sleep,” the gunslinger laughs. He turns to Hanzo. “What kinda food they eat where you’re from?”

Hanzo smiles. “Rice. A lot of rice. Fish. Beef is expensive because we import it. Noodles. Vegetables. Have you ever heard of _natto_?”

The gunslinger grins curiously, as if Hanzo will tell him it’s the world’s most delectable food. “Can’t say I have. What is it?”

“Disgusting. If anyone offers you some, refuse.”

The gunslinger’s face falls for a second before he starts laughing again. “All right, I’ll take your word for it. Where I come from, meat is the priority. Man, reminds me I could really go for a big juicy steak right now.”

The soldier groans appreciatively, but the alchemist shakes her head.

“Well what do they got where you hail from, ma’am?” The gunslinger sits back in his chair, though leans a little toward Hanzo. He looks comfortable.

“Beans,” she tells him, eyebrow and lip quirking on the same side of her face. “Rice – I suppose that’s everywhere, though. Okra, lentils, baklava, fruits… Animal brains sometimes.” She grins.

Hanzo allows himself to smile as the soldier tries to keep his face polite and impassive, but the gunslinger has less luck.

“Brains! That sounds pretty gross.” He is thoughtful a moment. “Though I suppose I ain’t one to talk. Any’a ya’ll ever eat pigs feet? Someone close to me made me that once. Pretty good, until he told me what it was.”

“But you still ate it, I’m sure,” Hanzo says.

The gunslinger shrugs. “Food’s food. Ain’t that different from _chicharrones_. Both’re pig.”

Hanzo’s brows furrow. “What is that?”

“Pork rinds. Or sometimes pig skin,” the soldier explains before the gunslinger can. “Dried out like jerky, and then deep fried.”

“You like _chicharrones, guerro_?” The gunslinger asks, smirking. His shoulders square though he doesn’t make a move from his seat.

“I do,” the soldier says, suddenly sullen. “Someone I used to be close to loved them more than he should have.”

“Yeah, they’re salty. Gotta moderate it.” The gunslinger settles back, but his eyes are still sharp. Hanzo wonders if they have history like the soldier and alchemist seem to.

After a filling dinner, Lena and Lucio lead the four to their rooms. Hanzo bows to everyone before slipping into his and setting his bag down on the bed. He contemplates whether he should being crafting more arrows tonight or wait after he wakes up in the morning. Looking out of the window, he appreciates the cool breeze blowing on his face, and the beauty of the stars dappling the sky around the waxing moon.

There is a knock on the door, and the gunslinger steps in apologetically.

“Mind if I sit with you a while?”

Hanzo nods, taking one last look to the window before moving his items off the bed and sitting at the head of it.

“Pretty nifty place, ain’t it?”

Hanzo nods again. At first he isn’t sure what the gunslinger wants, but as soon as the latter sits down on the bed in front of him, he realizes. Conversation with someone you enjoy is a good distraction, he thinks.

“It’s the noise. Too much in your head,” he says vaguely. The gunslinger nods, unperturbed by the non-sequitur comment.

“I’ll never be able to sleep at a reasonable time,” the gunslinger confesses. “Too much on my mind. Too much… Oh I dunno.”

“Anxiety?” Hanzo offers.

The gunslinger takes it, nodding exuberantly. “Figured talkin’ with you would help. I’m drawn to you, Archer, for reasons I can’t even fathom. I’m thinkin’ something’s drawing us together and that makes all this feel less scary. Makes it feel safer.”

Hanzo says nothing, letting the gunslinger get everything out. It always worked to calm his dear brother, and it seems to be working again.

“I dunno what it is about you, but you’re the reason I stayed. I thought a lot about this on the way over, and I like that Lucio guy, but I never thought somethin’ like this was worth dyin’ over, and you hear stories round these parts if you listen. Mad doctor here, an evil witch there. It don’t sit right with me. But the moment I saw you I knew I’d be stayin’ as long as you were. Just somethin’ about you.”

The gunslinger suddenly stops and looks at Hanzo’s face for the first time since sitting down, eyes blown wide. He rubs the back of his head. “I’m sorry. This must sound awful forward and weird. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I gotta habit’a not really thinkin’ before I go off like this.”

Hanzo shakes his head, drawing his legs from under himself and wrapping his arms around them. “You’re a nervous talker.”

The gunslinger laughs, tension leaving his face if only for a second. “Must be nervous a lot. Get told I never shut up.”

“It is soothing,” Hanzo admits.

Seeing a friendly face helps to calm the nerves, and the gunslinger seems to have an aura about him that Hanzo can trust.

“Well I’m glad my talkin’ can help more than just me.” The gunslinger scratches his beard. Hanzo notices he no longer has his gloves on, and one of his hands looks strange in the moonlight. Missing nothing, the gunslinger waves the hand around. “Notice it, did ya? It’s a fake.”

“It moves realistically. Could I bother you for that story? I do not wish to pry.”

“Happened a long time ago. I was workin’ with my pops. Er, well he ain’t my father, but he may as well have been, y’know? Anyway he was takin’ me on a job with him – he was kind of a merc, he’d guard merchants and lords and anyone who needed him. So he was takin’ me to meet someone and the people he was guardin’ were headed to that town. On the way, we got ambushed. Took a lot of ‘em down, but more kept comin’ and the old man told me to get the people we were guardin’ outta there; he’d take care of the bastards.

“And well, I did what he said – not without a bit of protest, mind you, I talked back to him far too much for my own good – but I did it cos I always did what he said. Had no reason to think he couldn’t handle it. Got ‘em all to town safely, went back for my old man…”

Hanzo reaches out instinctively, covering the gunslinger’s hands with his own. The gunslinger looks at him with wide eyes and smiles sadly.

“He chewed me out for comin’ back, but he let me stay. Fought side-by-side like I always wanted. Course I got a bit cocky, was a lot younger then and didn’t have as much skill as I do now—” The gunslinger winks at Hanzo, who tries not to smile “—so I got hit pretty hard. Fell over and got trapped under some debris. He helped me out, but my arm was smartin’ somethin’ awful, broken in all sortsa places. And… Ah… One of the attackers had a bomb, somethin’ like that. Turns out I didn’t need to worry about settin’ my bones back.”

The gunslinger laughs long, low, and bitterly. He squeezes Hanzo’s hands and refuses to make eye contact.

“Bastard took my arm and the only person who ever gave a damn about me beside my own momma, bless her soul. Woke up in town three days later. No arm, no _papito_. Met someone kind enough to make this arm for me and I went seekin’ some revenge.”

“Why does it move like it’s your arm?” Hanzo grazes his fingers over the metallic arm, gazing in wonder. “I mean, I thought it was real when it was gloved.”

The gunslinger chuckles. “Yeah, works like a real charm. I dunno how, didn’t much care. I just wanted to kill the bastard that killed my dad.”

“Did you find him?”

“Sure did. Wasn’t that hard to track down.”

“Did you kill him?” Hanzo sits back, realizing he had been inching forward toward the gunslinger.

“You really wanna know?” the gunslinger asks.

Hanzo isn’t sure if it’s warningly or teasingly. His stomach gives an involuntary jolt regardless. He nods, unable to trust himself to speak.

The gunslinger rubs a thumb over the back of Hanzo’s hand. “I didn’t. Looked the bastard right in the eye, my gun to his head and ready to pull the trigger. But I couldn’t. Didn’t feel right, like… _Papito_ woulda been disappointed in me.”

How unexpected. Hanzo lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “You just let him go?”

“Told him if I ever saw his ugly mug again I’d bash it in. Let him run away with his tail between his legs. Tipped off some nice people in the town and he got caught for murder couple days later. Justice enough for me I suppose.”

Hanzo nods. “I would have never been able to do that.”

“No?”

“I was a very angry boy,” he says, biting his lip.

The gunslinger laughs. “No way, you’re cool as can be.”

“I try. My anger drove me to do many regrettable things…and it ended in my banishment.”

“Banishment?” The gunslinger looks at Hanzo astonished. “Must’ve done somethin’ not so good, huh?”

Hanzo looks away. Thoughts of Genji flood his mind and he wishes, not for the first time, that he could change the past. He has not known peace since that day, nor companionship in quite the same way.

“We don’t gotta talk about that,” the gunslinger says, his voice low and gentle. “Why don’t you tell me what home was like for you, Archer. Somethin’ happy.”

Hanzo smiles wistfully. “A village, high atop a hill. There are cherry blossoms in the spring.” He sighs, unable to maintain anything more than bitter sweetness. “I miss it dearly.”

“Sounds lovely. What did you do for fun?”

A pang strikes Hanzo’s chest. “I would go for walks. With my little brother. He used to bore so easily, and he would beg me to take him to the river, or to the next town if we needed supplies… I could never say no to him.”

The gunslinger smiles. He almost looks as if he is about to cry. “You two were close then?”

“He was more important to me than anyone in this life.”

Hanzo offers no more on Genji, and the gunslinger does not push. Instead he asks, “Those lil balls of rice we ate that night we first met. What’re those called?”

Blinking, Hanzo answers, “Rice…balls?”

“Rice balls. Well that shoulda been obvious I guess.” He laughs at himself, endearing Hanzo to him more.

“In my language, they are called _onigiri_. They are easy enough to make.”

The gunslinger grins again. He gives Hanzo’s hands a final pat before he stands. “I guess I should let you get some sleep. I’m headin’ into town again tomorrow to fill up on ammo and other supplies. You’re welcome to join me.”

Standing as well, Hanzo agrees. He may need supplies as well, so it’s worth a look. The two share a final goodnight, and Hanzo shuts the door gently behind the gunslinger.

*

The days pass slowly, each second ticking by and sending shivers down the four heroes backs. Hanzo wonders how worth it is to stay, but knows he has made a promise and will see it through to the end.

Lord Reinhardt tells them that Dr. Junkenstein fled the castle with all of his research and has been since biding his time to strike with his army of created minions. It was a full moon a month ago the lord ejected him from the castle, and so that is presumably why he will strike on the full moon.

“Do Germans celebrate Halloween?” he asks the gunslinger as they tend to their respective weapons.

“Not sure,” the gunslinger tells him. “Why?”

“The moon will be fullest then. Is that a coincidence?”

The gunslinger sits back and whistles. “Maybe. That’s pretty funny. Y’know I wouldn’t have caught that. I mean we celebrate it in the States, but I always celebrated _Dia De Muertos_ instead. _Papito_ always made sure to make sugar skulls for me to put down for my momma.”

“That is another holiday?”

“Yeah,” the gunslinger’s lips twitch and he gives Hanzo that peculiar expression again—the one that makes Hanzo think he wants to cry. “Day of the Dead. It’s a time to celebrate your lost loved ones. Their spirits come back to visit, and you leave food at their graves. _Papito_ always took time off so I could visit my momma.”

“How kind. We also leave food on our deceased loved ones’ graves. It’s lovely to see the similarities in our cultures.”

“Hey, yeah! That’s real neat.”

The final hours before the moon rose on Halloween night tick by, agonizing the heroes. They stand guard in front of the castle, eyes scanning the horizon on the soldier’s orders. Nothing out of the ordinary happens until the moon shines upon them, shadows deepening behind them against the castle walls.

A shrill cackle echoes through the courtyard. The hair on Hanzo’s arms stands on end and he nocks an arrow in his bow, drawing it back tight as he scans around.

“Over there!” The alchemist calls out, pointing with her rifle to the other end of the courtyard in front of them. Five orange creatures rise from the ground, shambling toward them.

Hanzo lets the arrow fly, hitting one of the creatures on its head, the arrow splintering and scattering, hitting the other creatures around it. He manages to fell only two of them. Three different gunshot sounds ring out, and suddenly all of the creatures crumble to the ground.

“What are those things?” the gunslinger asks. He looks like he wants to get closer to look.

“Beats the hell out of me,” the soldier says. “Stay alert, there are bound to be more.”

“There are three different ways to enter,” the alchemist says. “I’ll watch the right side.”

“I got the left, then,” the soldier answers.

“Suppose that leaves us with the middle,” the gunslinger says to Hanzo in his easy drawl.

When Hanzo looks into the gunslinger’s eyes, he can see the tension. He looks away, taking out another arrow and loosing it toward the gate. “Marked.”

The second more creatures stumble through the gate, they can see the movements.

“Neat lil arrow trick there,” the gunslinger compliments, aiming his gun and shooting once the creatures come into view. “Got any more of those?”

“Plenty.”

Split off and watching the entrances, the heroes take down the creatures with minimal effort. It seems an endless cycle of orange glowing creatures shambling to the slaughter until a different creature glides in, glowing silver and throwing fire balls at them. The first one almost hits the gunslinger right in the face, but he rolls to the side, dodging it easily.

He pops up from the ground, howling with laughter. There is a glint in his eye that is markedly different from the anxiety Hanzo had seen earlier. “Now _this_ is interesting!” He empties his gun with his Fan the Hammer trick – something his insisted on showing Hanzo days before – destroying the creature before it can hurl another fire ball at them.

A voice rings out, the same voice that they heard cackling before. “Get ready for a shock!”

A strange sound surrounds them, but Hanzo realizes it’s coming from the left. He pulls an arrow out and waits with bated breath for whatever it is to appear. A spinning tire with spikes hurtles out of the gateway and straight toward him. He lets the arrow and his breath go, the arrow striking the tire, both of them exploding.

“Nice one!” The gunslinger exclaims as he shoots the creature coming nearer to Hanzo.

“Panic does wonder for skill, Gunslinger.”

The gunslinger’s laugh is drowned out by a deafening silence, a chill in the air stifles them all. On the ramparts, shadows swirl and take shape into a cloaked figure with a carved pumpkin head.

“The Reaper comes for your souls!” The figure cackles.

Before any of them can react, the shadows swirl once again and suddenly the Reaper appears in front of the gunslinger. He smashes the butt of one of his dual shotguns into the gunslinger’s face, knocking the latter back against the wooden door.

Hanzo reaches for an arrow, but something blurs past him and crashes right into the Reaper. It takes Hanzo a second to register the soldier on the ground grappling with the Reaper, but even when he does, their struggling makes it impossible to shoot without fear of hitting the soldier. Hanzo abandons the attempt and rushes to the gunslinger, kneeling down to help.

“Are you all right?”

“Was a lucky shot.” The gunslinger waves him away, standing up and reloading the revolver. “Let’s get these things away from the door.”

As the soldier fights the Reaper, the others continue to pick off the strange orange and silver creatures in waves. The soldier doesn’t seem to want any help and the alchemist gives Hanzo and the gunslinger a look that tells them not in interfere.

Soon enough, the Reaper gets the upper hand and pins the soldier to the ground. It’s enough for an opening, which the gunslinger beats Hanzo to. A single gunshot rings out and the Reaper crumples to the ground, dissolving into a thick black mist, like liquid shadows.

“Interesting choice in headwear,” the gunslinger says as he reloads.

“No!” the soldier cries out, holding a hand to where the mist slowly dissipates.  When the others give him strange looks, he gets up. Hands balled into fists, he says. “I guess his curse is finally lifted…”

No one has a chance to answer before another onslaught of creatures comes through, flooding every gate. Beating them back seems to take forever, and Hanzo’s fingers begin to ache. There seems to be no end in sight.

Hanzo looks to the left, to the gunslinger, who seems to be having the time of his life, but the never ending stream of creatures does look to be taking its toll on him.

“Getting tired, Gunslinger?” Hanzo teases, landing another headshot.

The gunslinger throws a look back, wolfish grin as bright as the moonlight. “Not a chance!”

Suddenly, the alchemist calls out, “It’s Junkenstein’s monster!”

The ground shakes, and the heroes stop to look at the gate as it rattles. A great bang clatters out and the gate shatters and in stomps a giant green monster, with stitches and marks all over its body. It holds a large gun-like device and laughs as if it’s wearing a mask. It says what Hanzo thinks is a muffled “You’re mine!” before an oversized iron hook on a chain launches out and grabs the gunslinger by the left arm, pulling him at breakneck speed toward the monster.

In what is either a blind panic or a carefully controlled move, the gunslinger reaches into a pouch, pulling out a canister. He squeezes his eyes shut and smashes it against the monster, a bright flash of light accompanied by a loud pop sound. The monster drops him, and the alchemist has a clear shot, shooting the monster right in the head, putting it to sleep.

Hanzo runs, his feet tapping against the stone, and shoots three well aimed arrows into the monster’s head, killing it as it slumbers. He helps the gunslinger to his feet. The soldier is right behind them, giving the gunslinger a small cloth to wrap a wound.

“I’m alright, he got the fake arm. No need to worry.”

The soldier nods, looking toward the giant carcass of the monster. “What _was_ that thing?”

Hanzo hands the gunslinger the flask he keeps on his _obi_. There seems to be a lull in the attack, no doubt for the mad doctor to gather his forces and launch another wave.

The gunslinger takes the flask gratefully, leaning on Hanzo, who isn’t entirely convinced he needs to. “Honestly I’m…tryin’ to forget.” He hands the flask back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

The three look back toward the alchemist, who beckons them back.

“I saw movement,” she tells them, “up on that ledge.”

Almost as soon as she finishes speaking, the cackling starts up again and a figure appears on the ledge the alchemist had mentioned.

“You will all regret the day you _laughed_ at Doctor Jameson Junkenstein! Attack! My minions! My monster!”

The heroes look at one another. Clearly the doctor hadn’t realized his monster was dead. The alchemist lines up her shot, but get distracted with the creatures swarming. She and the soldier counterattack, picking the creatures off one by one.

“Cover me,” Hanzo tells the gunslinger, who does his duty admirably.

Hanzo lines up his own shot. He may be too far back to get a proper shot, but there is no wind to speak of, and the doctor tends to sit and shake in one place when he cackles. Hanzo raises his bow a little higher, ignoring the ringing next to him from the gunslinger’s revolver, and what are the now distant sounds of the soldier’s and alchemist’s rifles. A little higher. The doctor moves left and right, dropping tiny bombs off the ledge, trying to harm the soldier. A little to the right. The doctor shakes with glee, full body convulsing with mad laughter. Hanzo breathes, letting the arrow go, watching it soar through the air and pierce the doctor’s body.

The gunslinger whistles. “Now that was impressive.”

Hanzo looks down solemnly for a moment. “Killing… is something I am good at.”

“Well I’m awful glad you’re on our side, Archer.”

There isn’t enough time to rest before the same feeling of dread fills all of them as the Reaper appears, shooting his shotguns at the soldier.

“What a mess,” the gunslinger says, reloading his gun in seconds. “Hey, Archer, what say you pass that flask around so we can all have a drink? This is thirsty work.”

“We drink when the job is done,” Hanzo teases, shooting down a creature that comes too close to the solider and the Reaper fighting.

“All right… How about after all this, we get drinks again instead?”

“So long as you are paying.”

The gunslinger laughs. “I hear ya.”

The soldier manages the upper hand, his rifle taking down the Reaper, the latter’s anguish ringing through the courtyard again.

After the Reaper falls, the ground shakes and a bright light erupts from the ground and Junkenstein’s monster appears again where Hanzo felled him. On the ledge, Junkenstein rises again, cackling starting up once more.

“What in God’s name?” The soldier backs up, falling into line beside Hanzo and the gunslinger.

A woman appears by the monster, mechanical wings spreading out behind her back. She lifts a hand in the air, and with a smile says, “My servants never die!”

Hanzo remembers what the gunslinger had said, about an evil witch. It soon becomes evident that it is indeed what she is, no matter how many times they strike the monster, it does not fall because of her. They must take her down if they are to put an end to this battle.

The heroes fight valiantly, covering one another's weaknesses and attacking together as a synchronized unit. The alchemist sends down her potions to aid her allies and poisons any enemy to come near her; the soldier activates his visor, his aim improving and no shot goes astray; the gunslinger stays by Hanzo, shooting anything to come too close as Hanzo lines up each shot, careful with the arrows.

It seems to happen all at once, time slowing and speeding up in turn. The alchemist shoots the witch, who flies through the air and lands with a dull thud on the flagstones. The soldier riddles the monster full of holes not seconds later. Hanzo ends the mad doctor in the same way as before, the cackling cut short. The last sound is of the gunslinger's six shooter blasting the Reaper until he too fell to the ground, defeated.

"Sorry, Pumpkin," the gunslinger says, grimacing.

Hanzo, feet tapping on the stones, runs to the gunslinger, grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt. "You did it! We did it!"

The gunslinger turns to Hanzo, placing a hand over the archer's. "And you were worried." He winks, and Hanzo can't help but laugh.

"You are somewhat effective at least."

They head back into the castle, the soldier stalling to stay behind a little bit longer, taking off his mask to gaze solemnly and longingly where the Reaper dissipates into the cool night air.

*

In the castle, Reinhardt thanks the heroes with a hearty laugh. He and Lucio insist on a celebratory feast in their honor. It goes by in a blur for Hanzo, and before he knows it, he and the gunslinger stand at the open window in Hanzo's temporary room, full and content.

"Can't believe we made it through that ordeal. I'm actually glad I stayed, Archer."

"As am I. Oh! Before I forget..." Hanzo rustles in his bag, carefully pulling out the gunslinger’s serape and presenting it thusly. “I suppose you will be wanting this back.”

“Hey now! I was hopin’ I’d see this again. My momma gave me this when I was just a lil chitlin’ about yea high!” The gunslinger laughs, holding the serape close with one hand. “Thank you for takin’ care of it for me.”

“It’s kept me warm all this time. I should be thanking you.” Hanzo touches the fabric once more with a faint smile before turning back to the window. Soon enough the night would be over, and Hanzo has always loved the sight and smell of sunrise.

“Now this feels pretty intimate,” the gunslinger says, grin engulfing his face as much as his beard. “You think I could know your name? I been dyin’ to know.”

Hanzo looks up at him. It does feel odd to have fought side-by-side with someone and trust them so much, yet not have an inkling on what their name may be. His lips curl up and he tilts his head mischievously. “Where I come from, it is rude to ask for someone’s name without giving yours first.”

The gunslinger scratches his beard. “Is it now? Well, my apologies! The name’s McCree! Jesse McCree.”

McCree holds out a hand, and Hanzo takes it, his own is smaller. “McCree… That’s such a nice name.”

A warmth runs through Hanzo, a new energy. When McCree smiles, Hanzo can’t help but do the same. When McCree laughs, Hanzo is happier.

“Thank you,” McCree says patiently.

Hanzo feels a rush of affection for this man who won’t rush him.

“I think I’ll keep my name a secret for some time.”

The way McCree’s face falls, Hanzo can’t help the bark of laughter that comes forth.

“That ain’t fair! You don’t fight fair!” McCree laughs nonetheless. “I loan you my serape, I tell you my name! You don’t play right, Archer!”

Hanzo loves the way McCree looks when he’s teased, like he isn’t really angry. He’s a man to take things in stride, but isn’t used to being caught off guard. Hanzo wants to be the one to keep him on his toes.

Face impassive, but mood inflating, Hanzo turns back to the window. “The sun rises. Watch with me.”

McCree puts his arm against the wall, leaning on it, his other hand hovering behind Hanzo’s back, the only sign of it the heat from being so near.

The light peering over the horizon reminds Hanzo of home.

“I would watch the day break most mornings. Sometimes my brother would beg me to wake him up to watch with me. Sometimes the two of us would not sleep until the sun was over the hill.”

“Sounds pleasant,” Mccree murmurs. Hanzo just nods.

When the sun peers from halfway over the ground, Hanzo begins to hum a song he has not heard in years, and it overwhelms him to remember. McCree’s hand touches his back; he keeps humming.

The sun finally breaks from the horizon, glowing brighter with every minute, as if it, too, is excited for the horrors to have ceased. Hanzo can’t finish the song and breaks off to steady himself.

“That was beautiful.” McCree’s voice is soft, almost a whisper.

“I would sing that to Genji when he could not sleep or whenever he would cry. We once had a nasty fight, and I had calmed down before him. I went to him, singing it, and he threw a tea cup at me, telling me to shut up, that he hated me. When it broke on my head, he ran to me and burst into tears, apologizing. I sang to him until we were both hoarse from crying.” Hanzo doesn’t know why he tells McCree all about his brother, but withholds his name like a game.

“Sometimes the people we love the most hurt us the most. I gather your brother loved you, from everything you’ve told me.”

Hanzo does not miss McCree’s hand subtly moving up and down on his back.

“I loved him,” Hanzo says. “But he was a better brother than I. I would have done anything for him, but instead I…” He should stop now. McCree does not need to hear about this. No one needs to know. But it’s McCree, and Hanzo knows he won’t stop until he feels better.

“I murdered him. My anger got the better of me and I took my own brother’s life. My baby brother… The village leaders thought he was too wild, that he needed to be reined in. They thought I was too soft on him. I was supposed to give him more responsibility, stop coddling him. I was supposed to make him useful. But for so long I was his big brother first, the clan heir second. I would rather take on all of Genji’s duties to the clan myself than have my baby brother miserable. I told him to pull his weight, and he told me he wanted nothing to do with the clan. The only reason he stayed was me; he loved me far too much to just leave me. He had been planning to run away for years, but could never because it would break my heart.

“It made me so angry that he could just abandon the clan and the village like that. I called him a selfish and lazy brat. He called me a pushover with no personality. We fought, and I… I struck him down. When I saw the look in his eye, I couldn’t—I just… My baby brother… I didn’t mean to, but I did that to him. I took his life away… He was such a good boy and I am nothing more than a monster. It broke my heart so much, I couldn’t bear to live in that house anymore. I couldn’t bear those rules, those people. If they had just let it be, if I hadn’t been so angry… I would still have my Genji…”

McCree pulls Hanzo close, holding the archer against his chest. He smells like sweat and what must be his natural scent, which Hanzo remembers from the serape.

“It’s all right now, it’s over. You’re right here now,” he coos.

Hanzo lets himself this one time to cry. He had been mourning Genji for years, but this somehow feels better, more liberating. Suddenly, he pulls away, feeling very foolish.

“I… I came west because I heard rumors, whispers of someone who… Someone who sounds like Genji.”

McCree looks at him sadly, but doesn’t respond.

“I’ve been following these rumors just in case… Genji is alive somewhere. Alive and happy. I just want to apologize so he does not have to think his brother hated him so.”

“You shouldn’t cling to hope, Archer. It could be the death of you.”

Hanzo squares his shoulders. “I have been waiting and praying for death for far too long for me to believe that.”

Raising an eyebrow, McCree frowns contemplatively. “Well lemme tell ya what. Let’s go for a walk, get some drinks later. If you buy, I’ll come with you on the hunt for your brother Genji. It’s better to have someone watchin’ your back in unfamiliar places, and I can keep ya warm.” He winks, tapping Hanzo on the shoulder.

Hanzo can’t help but laugh. He rubs his face, wiping off any stray tears and nods. “It would be my honor to have you.”

“Mighty fine!”

They pack up their things, and descend the stairs.

“You know,” Hanzo says, readjusting his bag. “My people would call you a _ronin_. A masterless samurai.”

“A ‘ _ronin’_?” McCree laughs warmly. “I like the sound of that.”

Hanzo rolls his eyes, but smiles. “We are the same.”

When they reach the foyer, the alchemist and the soldier are already there, bickering.

“Jack, let it go, he’s dead.”

“He’s not, Ana. I know he’s not, and I need to find him.”

“Find who?” McCree asks. He rests his hands on his belt.

“He’s looking for the Reaper. But his curse is lifted and he is dead!” The alchemist, Ana, insists.

“Even so, I won’t stop looking. He was too important to me for me to just stop now.”

McCree snorts. Hanzo doesn’t think it sounds unkind, more of a _look, he’s doing the same thing we are_ , but the soldier, Jack, seems to take it as a slight.

“Listen, kid. If you knew this man like I knew him, you’d know he wouldn’t just die so easily.”

“I thought the same about my old man. What, this guy yer boyfriend or somethin’, old timer?”

Jack glares at McCree, but Hanzo hears no denial. “A hero like Gabriel Reyes would never have been taken down like this. I’m going to find him and lift his curse.”

Hanzo feels McCree stiffen beside him. Suddenly a gloved hand grabs his own.

“Heroes are human like the rest of us. Even legends die!” McCree pulls Hanzo out of the foyer and into the chilly morning air, body tense. “Stupid old man.”

“McCree, wha—”

“My _papito_! That bastard knew him. Thinks he’s still alive, but he ain’t! I saw him die! I saw…”

“McCree—”

“He expects me to believe that that witch cursed my _papito_ or something? That that pumpkin headed fool we killed was my _papito_?” He stops suddenly, turning to Hanzo.

“I am sorry, McCree.”

“No, I am. I don’t normally… My temper ain’t so bad, that’s just a sore spot… You think… Maybe… If we have time, we could check into some rumors about the Reaper? Just—just in case…”

Hanzo nods. “You are helping me chase my dead brother. I would be more than happy to help you chase your dead father.”

“You are mighty swell, Archer.”

“Hanzo,” Hanzo says, smiling and gripping McCree’s hand tighter. “My name is Shimada Hanzo.”

McCree squeezes back. “It’s a pleasure to meet you officially then, Hanzo.”

“The pleasure is all mine.”

**Author's Note:**

> You don't know how excited I am to have this finished. Happy Halloween, nerds! <3


End file.
